


TFLN ficlets

by timorous_scribe



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Ficlet, Gen, Hangover, Humor, Loft Life, Multi, Phone Calls & Telephones, Texts From Last Night, friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3231290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timorous_scribe/pseuds/timorous_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Glee ficlets written off of Texts From Last Night prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kurt & Rachel - sugar cubes

**Author's Note:**

> There's some humor in here, some angst, and some goofiness. It's different ships and friendships, characters, settings, etc. Just ficlets. Hopefully not too confusing, they're all independent bits, completely unrelated to each other. Needed to exercise past a block and these helped it along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (206) woke up to the trail of sugar cubes leading to my bed..........was i that uncooperative last night?

**You  
** _I woke up to the trail of sugar cubes leading to my bed…….was I *that* uncooperative last night?_

**Kurt  
** _You refused to keep your clothes on in the living room, sang ‘Drunk In Love’ at the top of your lungs REPEATEDLY, and tried to have phone sex THROUGH ME when I called Santana to find out when she’d be home to deal with you._

**Kurt  
** _Yes, you were *that* uncooperative. The sugar cubes were her idea._

Rachel huffs when she reads the text and half sits up with the intention of shoving Santana, breathing deeply in sleep next to her, out of the bed. She's laying back down instantly, groaning at the answering throb in her skull from the surge in her blood pressure.

She’s not sure if Kurt is in his room on the other side of the loft or not, but she isn’t really feeling up to walking at the moment, even if she did feel like checking (she doesn’t). When she _does_ eventually work up the effort to get out of bed, it will be to empty her protesting bladder and not to check on Kurt’s whereabouts. It was a half-assed attempt to at least roll her hungover body onto its side that made her notice the sugar cubes in the first place.

Her pride was wounded enough at the thought of being led around like a horse to text Kurt about it, but it sounds like she was maybe a handful last night and should perhaps reevaluate her right to offense.

Rachel didn't even mean to get so drunk. She'd met up with Cassie for a catch-up since it'd been almost a year since they'd seen each other, and every time she went out with the woman she ended up tipsy and she _knew_ that. But somehow the challenge in that striking green gaze with each offered shot of Patron was something Rachel just couldn't back down from, she never could. And it always ended out with her completely drunk from trying to keep up, with the disconcerting confidence that the laughter from the other woman was only partially fond, and maybe more than a little mean. It was Cassie's way, after all.

Santana snuffles in her sleep and shifts, rolling over to drowsily wrap long limbs around Rachel's frame and bury her nose in the hair at the back of Rachel's neck.

"Whad'er y'doin?" is huffed into Rachel's skin and she smiles at the feeling. Squinting one eye, Rachel taps out a response and sets her phone back on the side table, snuggling deeper into the warm naked body pressed against her back.

** You  
** _I'm sorry I was difficult. Thank you for taking care of me, Kurt. I owe you a lunch! Later. When food is something I can think about again. ;)_

Her phone buzzes with his reply and Santana growls faintly. Rachel doesn't bother reaching for it. It and Kurt will still be there when she wakes up later, hopefully feeling less like death in last night's dress.

** Kurt  
** _Consider us even for Naughty Santa._

 

 


	2. Quinn, Santana, Sam - pizza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (709) Anyways he came over at 3:30 am and ate me out while I ate pizza on the counter

“You had sex with _Sam_?!” Quinn is already short on patience given that it’s a little after 5am, and instead of being asleep like a normal person, she’s on the phone with a mildly drunk Santana Lopez.

“No, I didn’t say that at all.” Santana makes her words deliberately slow and patient, like Quinn is some kind of idiot for suggesting the idea and she has to speak slowly to be understood. “What I _said_ , was that he came over after I got home--”

“At 3:30 in the morning.”

“At 3:30 in the morning, yes, and--”

“Drunk.”

“Well _obviously_ , Quinn, why else would I be on the phone with Sammy fucking ‘Trouty Mouth’ Evans at 3:30 in the morning? God, can I finish this, or do you want to tell it?”

Quinn clears her throat but doesn’t say anything else, waiting for Santana to explain to her how “he ate me out while I ate pizza on the counter” doesn’t mean she had sex with Sam.

“So Lady Lips had texted me earlier in the night when I was still at the bar, asking about picking up those speakers he wants to use for the cookout this weekend?" It turns into a question at the end and Santana pauses. "You’re coming, right?”

“Yeah, I already told you that yesterday. Finish your story.” Quinn is practiced at navigating conversations with Santana when she’s drunk, and she’s honestly too tired to be delicate.

“So thirsty, Q. _Damn_. So he was texting me about that, and I told him I’d hit him up when I was headed home so he could swing by...” She trails off and goes quiet, and Quinn snaps her name when it becomes apparent that Santana’s been distracted by something on the other end of the line.

“So what happened? He came by… and ate you out? What the hell, Santana; that doesn’t make any sense. Why did you call me?”

“Oh my _god_ , Quinn, calm _down_. Jesus. So I hit him up and I told him to bring a pizza because I was feelin’ my H’s coming on,”

“Hungry and horny?” Quinn supplies flatly, she’s well familiar with how Santana gets when she’s been drinking, and it's somehow heavily influenced by 90s pop culture.

“And hot, Q. You can’t forget hot.” Quinn can hear the smirk through the phone and just rolls her eyes.

“And then…? How’d you get from pizza to Sam going down on you? And I thought you weren’t into guys.”

"Lucy Quinn Fabray, are you jealous?" Santana has turned on her seductive purr, and though the silky tone vibrates a reserved corner of Quinn's memory, outwardly she just snorts.

"You're joking, right? Don't delude yourself, it's not healthy."

Santana picks back up in her normal tone, as if they hadn’t even stopped for the minor come-on, and continues without addressing the question. "So he brought me the pizza and we were eating it in the kitchen just bullshittin' and whatever, and I caught him checking out the goods." Quinn's pretty sure 'the goods' were probably only covered in the barest possible passing for underwear, and feels a tiny bit of sympathy for Sam. "Weirdest thing happened, for once it _didn't_ actually make me wanna hurl half-digested pizza all over my stylish kitchen tile. It’s probably due to the massive overgrowth of lips on his face that make him look like a Russian sex-worker if you're sitting too close, but whatever the cause, I kissed him."

"Santana," Quinn knows she probably sounds weary, this entire conversation is some twilight zone weirdness that she is really hoping will end up just being a dream, probably induced by that spicy lime chicken she had for dinner. It occurs to her that it might actually be more disturbing to have come up with this on her own, and she dismisses the thought before it can get too alarming.

"He still kisses like his tongue is a drowning sea cucumber though, so I pulled my panties off and told him I was drunk enough to let him fuck me if he could make me come with his gigantic girl mouth first."

No matter how many years they've known each other, Santana still has the capacity to fluster Quinn with her nonchalance in talking explicitly about sex. They might as well be talking about what kind of pizza it was, Quinn doesn’t think it would be much different in tone, and it baffles her (and maybe secretly thrills her a little bit, as well) to treat the topic so off-the-cuff.

“So he couldn’t make you… I mean, you didn’t--”

“Oh, yeah I did.” Santana sounds pleased with herself. “I’m probably still drunk, but fishboy surprisingly wasn’t too bad at it.”

“I _knew_ it, I was right! You had sex with Sam.”

“Hell no, I didn’t! Quinn, what the hell? It’s like you don’t know me at all.” She’s not sure how Santana manages to be disappointed in her for believing she’d keep to a deal when she made it, but that’s what’s happening, regardless. “I came, it wasn’t bad, I told him to get out.”

Quinn gasps and Santana cackles, a deep guffaw that Quinn can immediately tell is at her expense. “Wow, Q, I’m hurt. I’m a bitch but I’m not _cruel_.” She definitely gives true meaning to the phrase ‘all over the place,’ and Quinn feels like her head is spinning trying to follow all the changes in direction. “I sat on his lap and tried to teach him how to kiss like a fucking person instead of a plecostomus. Went for the pity handy and it didn’t take long.”

“Oh my g-- _UGH_. Santana! I don’t want to--why did you call me at five in the fucking morning to tell me this?”

“You’re one of my best friends, Q.” She almost sounds wounded and Quinn is back to the spinning feeling. “Besides, who _else_ am I gonna tell? Brittany? Mercedes? They wouldn’t get it, that it was just a thing that happened, and now it’s over and that’s it. That there doesn’t have to be more.”

Quinn can’t help but feel like she’s being baited a little bit, coaxed to respond to some unspoken question.

“Well I guess you picked the right person to tell, then, didn't you. I know exactly what you mean.”


	3. Puck & Sam - Unholy Trinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (316) You missed lesbians having sex in the bathroom and the whole bar clapping for them. I had to do recon. It was amazing.

"Hey bro, sorry I couldn't make it out last night," Sam pins the phone between his jaw and his shoulder, unlocking the door of his apartment and trying not to drop the drink and bag of McDonald's in his other hand when he pushes it open with his foot. "I know you guys are only in town this week, but this kid from the team called me--" His keys fall to the floor when he gets them out of the lock, and the drink teeters from his attempt to fumble a grab at them. "Shit! Augh, ANYWAY, he called right when I was getting ready, and--"

"Dude, you _should_ be sorry!" Puck's excitement vibrates in his voice when he cuts him off, not waiting for Sam's recount of his evening. "You missed _out_ last night."

Sam sets down his food on the counter and turns to swipe the keys up from the floor, a pout forming without his intent.

"Yeah? What happened?"

" _Dude_. So the girls came out with us, too, right? And by the first couple drinks Brittany was already all up on Santana on the dance floor," Sam's pout curls up a little bit at that, until it's more of fond smile that's maybe only a little bittersweet.

"Yeah, she does that when she drinks..." he trails off and pulls his food out of the bag, carrying it with him over to the sofa.

"Yeah dude, but believe me when I tell you nobody in that bar was ready for when Quinn joined in." Puck's grin can be heard beaming full volume through the phone and Sam's eyebrows shoot up.

"Seriously? How drunk was she, man... that's not like her."

Puck scoffs in dismissal. "Only like a couple spritzers and a tequila shot off Santana's stomach." Sam swallows heavily at the mental picture and sinks further into the sofa cushions. It's a very confusing feeling to find the thought of two of his exes together so hot, and he's not sure which response to try to process first. "But you know how she is when she decides she's gonna do something, and I guess she decided it was them last night, hah!"

Puck sounds pleased with the whole scenario, but Sam's stomach twists with that same confused arousal and his eyebrows pinch together, memories of too many times in his relationships with both Brittany and Santana--he doesn’t even want to think about what it means that he’s dated and maybe even thought he was in love with _all_ of the girls they’re talking about right now--that they decided it was each other they were doing that night.

"Dude, you're cool with that? I thought you and Quinn were like, together or whatever."

"Sam, are you listening to me, bro?" Puck's voice is suddenly very serious. " _Quinn_... was all up on, and in the middle of, _Brittany and Santana_. Like, just, i just want you to stop and _picture_ that for a sec, alright?" Sam just huffs. It definitely sounds like it was hot, and he won’t lie and say he probably won’t think about how hot it really was later on, but Puck makes it seem so... so _creepy_ , and just gross.

“Yeah, I can’t believe it.” Sam sighs and shakes his head. Stupid Harrison and his stupid getting too drunk to function at a party. He wonders sometimes if he’s not too young for the job he has, too close to the players’ age to be a good coach. Twenty-three isn’t nineteen, and he’s learned a lot from Beiste over the last few years, but situations like last night where the guys call _him_ instead of their folks or something… It’s cool and all that they rely on him and feel like they can talk to him, but Sam isn’t sure it’s the best thing to be _that_ approachable. He’s pretty sure there’s supposed to be a line in there somewhere.

“--are you even listening?” Puck’s voice breaks through Sam’s haze and he sputters.

“Yeah, dude... Quinn was dancing in the middle of Brittany and Santana, I heard you.“

“See I knew you weren’t listening. Fuck Sam, are you gay and didn’t tell me? It’s cool if you are, you know; you could tell me.” Puck waits a bit like he’s actually expecting a response, and Sam thinks how he wishes Puck were here so he could see Sam rolling his eyes. “I said they went full L-Word threeway making out and shit on the dancefloor, bro. Hands all groping each other… Even Kurt would’ve been staring if he saw it; I’m telling you this was a thing of God’s beauty brought to earth. And it got even _better_ after that!”

“Did they get naked or something? What got better?” The creep factor still hasn’t escaped Sam’s notice, but Puck’s enthusiasm is persuasive and he’s actually pretty involved in the story now. He can’t believe he missed such an interesting night out with his old friends, especially now that he’s hearing what happened.

“Nah dude, Brittany dragged Quinn to the bar’s tiny ass bathroom--it’s more like a fuckin’ closet, really, it’s so small--and then Santana went in after them, after she leaned in all scary hot and told me not to let anyone in ‘til they came back out.”

“Holy shit! Right there in the bar?” Sam’s can’t hide his surprise, Quinn hooked up with Brittany and Santana in a bar bathroom in Lima last night. And he missed it. What the hell was the universe?

“Yeah, and the whole fucking bar could hear them in there, dude. They weren’t quiet.” It almost sounds like Puck is proud of them, and Sam feels a sudden awareness of how much he really misses his friend.

“Geez, man. It sounds like I missed a crazy night.”

“You mean crazy _awesome_ , and it totally was. Unholy Trinity in action, I wish you’d been there!”

“So what happened when they came back out?”

“Oh, oh man! That was so perfect, people _clapped_!”

“Seriously?” Sam can’t help a laugh at the thought.

“Fucking applauded. Santana, that bitch, she looked all smug and took a bow and shit, and Quinn was all red in the face, blushing like she wasn’t frickin’ grinding on Santana’s thigh before they went off to the bathroom.”

He laughs and Sam’s confused by how affectionate it sounds, Puck is talking about his girlfriend or whatever they are to each other hooking up with two different someone elses in front of him. “And then Brittany just smiled and came back to the table like nothing, and everyone went back to their own business.”

Sam shakes his head again. It shouldn’t be surprising, those girls hooking up. It’s not like it would be the first time even _he_ knew of, and who knows how many times he didn’t. He can’t decide if he’s really upset about missing it or not, even though the ache in his pants the longer he pictures it has a clear answer.

“Well good for them, I guess.” Sam chuckles and sighs.


	4. Kurt & Santana - nudity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (864) I love you but I don't want to see you naked.

"Santana! Clothing is NOT OPTIONAL in the common areas!"

Santana rolled her eyes dramatically, lazily rising from the chair she'd perched next to the windowsill and walking naked towards where Kurt stood covering his eyes in the kitchen.

"Relax, Elton. I didn't want tan lines and you're _gay_. Like, what's the issue? Afraid you'll like what you see?" She winked at him and waggled her brows when he cautiously spread his fingers to peek between them. He squeezed then closed again immediately with a groan.

"That is _not_ the point! You didn't like Brody's penis flapping around the kitchen during breakfast and I don't like your, your BREASTS floating around the living room! Can’t you tan on the roof like a normal person?"

“And have every random asshole in the neighborhood jerking off in his window? No thanks, I’m good.” She pulled an oversized tee-shirt over her head, the hem barely reaching the roundness of her ass cheeks, and held her arms out in presentation. “Better for your Puritanical sensibilities?”

“Thank you. God, Santana, _please_ keep at least minimal coverage to your nudity while in the common areas of the loft. I love you, but I do NOT want to see you naked!”

“Wow, declarations of love already? I’ll keep my shirt on, Kurt, Jesus. Just keep it in your pants. You may be naturally questioning your sexuality after being exposed to Lopez-level hotness, but I’m still very much _not_ into dick.”

It was very few times in his life that Kurt had felt that close to violence, but considering Santana was the cause of at least two other instances, it shouldn’t have been surprising that she was also his current catalyst.

“I take it back,” he deadpanned, slamming the fridge door and carrying his juice with him to his room. “I hate you.”

“Love you, too, Ladyface!”

 


	5. Quinn & OC - cupcakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (510) all the one night stand stories i have end with me crying on my RA's floor stuffing cupcakes into my mouth

"You gotta do _some_ thing, Quinn. You can't just keep--"

"It's Lucy." Quinn sniffles around a mouthful of cupcake--strawberry, her favorite, like Tori knew she'd be showing up this weekend and made her favorite in preparation--and a fresh round of fat tears rolls down her cheeks. " _Lucy_ sits on the floor feeding her fat face full of fucking _cupcakes_ when she's sad. Not _Quinn_."

Tori sighs in exasperation, running a hand through her long red hair. This is the fourth weekend in a row Quinn has shown up at the dorms crying hysterically in a walk of shame sometime after three in the morning, and if they weren't friends she'd consider this well beyond standard R.A. duties. She watches Quinn unwrap another cupcake--her third--and sob into the cream cheese frosting before thinking it's probably well beyond her duties, either way.

"Have you considered therapy?" Being a psych major has her asking that question more than she ever thought she would in life, but this time it actually really seems to fit. Quinn just snorts, an errant smear of frosting resting at the bow of her lip.

"I don't need a _shrink_ , I need to quit going home with fucking _girls_."

Tori's gathered that there's obviously some unresolved something in regards to Quinn's sexuality, but she also has a theory that there's a particular someone that triggers the whole mess, too. She hasn't been able to determine if that someone is here at Yale or not, but she's pretty sure they exist and that these weekend meltdowns are Quinn's faulty coping mechanism.

"Sweetie, maybe that's the symptom and not the actual problem."

"No, it's definitely the problem." Quinn says it defiantly, sniffling a little with her tears starting to dry, and Tori doesn't dare to hope that it's lucidity she's beginning to see in that turbulent hazel gaze. "I'm _not_ a lesbian." It's spit with such vitriol that Tori recoils, sighing again and looking at Quinn frankly.

"Well be that as it may, you keep doing this every weekend and you're gonna drive yourself crazy." She eyes Quinn warily, looking for acknowledgement. "Something's gotta give. Either quit doing it, or figure out why you keep doing it and find some peace, but this has got to stop." Quinn nods and wipes her face, shakily getting to her feet.

"You're right, you're so right, I'm so sorry." She stumbles a little towards the door, cupcake wrapper still gripped between sticky fingers. "I shouldn't be bothering you with my damage, I'm sorry."

Tori can see her eyes welling up again, fresh tears banking for a downpour.

"That's not what I meant..." She starts, but Quinn is already out the door, muttering to herself as she ping pongs down the hallway to her own room.

"I'll never be right for her, and no one else is right for me. It's just how it is."

Tori feels her heart crack for the smart and gorgeous girl dissolving in front of her, wondering absently who the mystery woman could be and why Quinn can't seem to find her happiness.

 


	6. Quinn & Santana - definitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (714) we hung out 5 times and only had sex 3 of those times. I'd call that friendship

 

"I just, I--" Quinn sighed, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and closing her eyes. "What _are we_ , Santana?"

There was a lot more build up to the question when Quinn imagined it in her head, but her exasperation with the whole conversation had it falling out with hardly any preamble. She couldn't deny how she felt when they were together, and they weren't kids anymore. There was a lot more at stake now.

It had only been a little over a year since Santana and Brittany had split, and only half that time since Santana had moved out to L.A. Quinn could handle being the support, the constant for Santana to lean on while she put herself back together in the wake of a nearly ten year long relationship. But she couldn't handle the thought of being just a rebound, not to Santana.

Santana didn't respond right away and the silence stretched on long enough for Quinn to peek an eye open, peering over at the other woman uncertainly. She was staring at Quinn with that unsettling intensity, unreadable in her quiet. Quinn felt like screaming.

She'd tried to ignore it for months, the fire between them, the attraction. _It's too fresh, she needs a *friend* right now, stop checking her out!_ But it kept growing between them like it always had, until Quinn just didn't have the strength to resist. She _wanted_ Santana, more than ever now to see her grown into the strong and beautiful woman watching Quinn from her own sofa with steady clarity.

"We're friends, Quinn." Santana watched carefully for the effect of her words, full lips turning in the hint of a smile at Quinn's huff. "Best friends."

"Is that all we are?" Quinn hated how _small_ her voice sounded, how tremulous and, and _weak_. She knew that Santana was her best friend, however humorous the fates found themselves when they stitched that arrangement, it was there and was the truth. She just couldn't stop herself from wanting so much more, wanting _everything_. She twisted her fingers together and squeezed, watching the skin turn from red to white with the pressure.

Santana reached across the stretch of sofa cushion between them, covering Quinn's fingers with her own. She waited until Quinn looked up at her again before responding.

"We hung out five times in the last week and only had sex three of those times." She smirked and Quinn could see the near-black of her eyes twinkling, countering the fake seriousness of her tone. "I'd call that friendship, yeah."

Quinn laughed despite herself and shook her head, letting her body fall forward until her forehead was pressed against Santana's thigh.

"You know what I mean. Jerk." It was muffled into the fabric of Santana's yoga pants, and Quinn sighed as Santana dragged nimble fingers through her hair, enjoying the soothing sensation for a few moments in the quiet.  

"I'm just scared, Quinn." The whisper was so soft Quinn could almost think she imagined it, if not for the tightening of the grip in her hair. She pressed a kiss into the cotton against her lips and sat up, chasing Santana's gaze this time, instead of the other way around.

"Chinese and Agent Carter?" Quinn asked, grabbing Santana's hand again with a soft smile. She understood the fear, shared it, even, and decided that if Santana was afraid, that had to mean something, at least.

Santana's eyes traced over her features searching for something, a genuine smile dawning when she was satisfied with what she'd found. She rolled her eyes and squeezed the fingers against her own.

"You and that show, I swear to god. You just like her tits."

 


	7. Sam & Rachel - IUDs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (484) I told him I had an IUD and he asked me how was a bomb a form of birth control...

"C'mon," Rachel breaks the kiss and pushes herself off of Sam's lap, standing up in between the coffee table and the couch he's still sitting on with her hand outstretched. Sam, eyes wide and his already large lips swollen from their make out, just stares at her dumbfounded. They've been kissing for at least an hour in the Hummel's living room, so he figures it's not really his fault if he's not as quick on the uptake as he probably should be. It's not like anyone would be surprised by the fact.

"Come _on_ ," she insists. "Let's take this to my room before Kurt gets back..." She steps close between his knees, bending down to suck gently at his lower lip. "I don't want us to be interrupted." She whispers it against his lips before straightening again and looking at him expectantly.

He's obviously not gonna argue with _that_ , so he nods and moves to stand, wincing at the tightness in certain areas of his jeans as he takes her hand. She leads them up the stairs and down the hall to her room, and he feels a weird drop in his stomach when they pass Finn's old bedroom door. She's been staying with Kurt ever since her dads' house sold, and it's not like they haven't hung out here a few times already in the weeks since the sale. But they hadn't made it upstairs any of those times, and there's definitely a flare of guilt in his chest at the reminder of his friend and her former fiance.

She pulls him along with a warm smile over her shoulder, her eyes so dark he can barely see their rich brown color, and he swallows heavily, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. Finn's been gone for over two years, and he really cares about Rachel. He knows he will take care of her if this keeps going between them like it has been.

She pulls him down next to her on the bed and immediately into another wet kiss, and his brain turns back off. Rachel's hot, and she wants him. He's not gonna screw this up by getting stuck thinking, he knows it's not exactly his strong suit.

Her fingers are pulling him free of his boxers a few minutes later before it kicks back in again.

"I don't, uh..." He closes his eyes when she squeezes, a dark smile on her lips that he's never seen before. "I don't have a condom." He manages to push the words out in a rush, while his fingers dig into the blanket beneath them and he tries to think about anything other than what her hand is doing to him.

He pries his eyelids open to see Rachel just smiling at him indulgently. She tilts her chin to suck at the line of his jaw and he blanks out again. "It's okay, we've both been tested and I have an IUD." She works her way up to his lips again and sucks his tongue into her mouth, and he can't help getting lost in the kiss again. She's _really_ good at it, okay?

Her words finally register, and Sam pulls back suddenly with the realization. "Wait, how is a bomb a form of birth control?"

He thinks it must've been the wrong thing to say, because Rachel freezes and just stares at him like he's joking and she's waiting for the punchline. She gradually shifts from impatient tolerance to what looks like maybe disbelief? He's not sure, but he starts to squirm under the scrutiny. He lifts one shoulder and gives her an awkwardly sheepish half smile.

"Sorry? I'm kind of--"

"No no, honey. Shh." Rachel says the words distractedly and covers his lips with her fingertips. Her gaze shifts to them while her brows furrow together like she's thinking about something important. Sam shuts up, because he's feeling stupid enough as it is--which he knows is totally not sexy, by the way--and not talking seems like the best idea to keep from ruining this entirely. "Just," she pauses and sighs, closing her eyes. Then it seems like she's come to some decision, because the next second she's nodding and smiling her overly bright (and a little scary, even though he'd never tell her that) show smile.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's just a--" she finally looks him in the eye again (he was starting to get really worried) and waves her hand dismissively. "It's nothing. There's nothing to worry about, I won't conceive, is the point. So let's just," she leans back into him, throwing her thigh over his lap and shifting until she's seated flush against him. "Let's just do this."

The next thing he knows, she's kissing him again and grinding her body in this crazy amazing roll, and he forgets about the whole bomb thing. He'll Google it later because safe sex is important, but right now this is way more urgent.


	8. Santana & Rachel - bigger person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (661) I'm just gonna be the bigger person here and say I want you inside me

"You can't just _say_ things like that to people, Santana! I have to work with them again, you know." Rachel slammed their front door, continuing to chew her girlfriend out for her behavior at the dinner they’d just left, while she angrily kicked her heels off and hung her keys on the hook.

Santana didn't respond to the diatribe, instead settling down on their couch and deliberately tuning Rachel out. It was a skill she exercised whenever Rachel was channeling harpies, so it was something she'd had a chance to perfect after almost three years together.

"Santana!" Rachel stamped her foot and Santana made the mistake of laughing outright, prompting a full on storm off with slammed bedroom door for extra effect. She sighed and shook her head, turning up the volume on the tv. It probably wasn't the best response she'd ever come up with, but oh well. Too late now. She'd learned a long time ago to just wait Rachel out and usually these kinds of things blew over.

Sure enough, within an hour Rachel was back out in the living room. Dressed in a sleep shirt and not much else from the looks of it, Rachel strode through Santana's eyeline without acknowledgment and walked around the coffee table to settle on the opposite end of the couch. She pulled out a book and focused on it with scary intensity, her mouth drawn into a determined line.

Santana looked over with amusement, her smile widening further when Rachel ignored her completely. Okay, she could play cold shoulder. She chuckled and turned back to the television, ignoring the delicious length of thigh on display from Rachel's aversion to pants.

It only took until the first commercial break before Santana was stealing glances over at Rachel. Her girlfriend reclined against the arm of the couch with one leg crossed over the other, the fingers of her free hand tracing absent patterns over her own thigh, seemingly engrossed in her book. Santana knew better. She swallowed heavily, averting her eyes back to the tv she’d lost interest in and trying not to think about those long, _long_ legs, and how they felt wrapped around her head.

Rachel cleared her throat and stood up from the sofa, slowly walking past Santana again and then down the hall to their bedroom. Santana waited for the slam of the door, and when nothing met her ears but silence, was on her feet in seconds. She padded down the hallway and peered around the corner into the bedroom to see Rachel sitting back against their headboard, still ‘reading.’

Santana walked in with a mischievous smirk and climbed onto the foot of the bed, crawling on her hands and knees until she was poised over Rachel’s legs. Rachel didn’t move her eyes from the book, turning the page nonchalantly as if Santana wasn’t perched over her lap in their bed, impatiently demanding her attention.

“Baaaaaaaby--” Santana cooed, lifting one hand to trail a fingertip up the outside of Rachel’s thigh.

“I’m reading, Santana.” Rachel’s curt tone said she enjoyed the stonewall she was dishing out entirely too much for Santana’s liking, and the smile dropped immediately.

“Are you fu--”

“ _Santana_. Reading.” Rachel still hadn’t looked up, but the corners of her mouth were starting to twitch and Santana didn’t fucking beg  _anyone_ for attention, not even her petulant and pouty girlfriend. At least, not in most situations outside of this exact bed.

“Whatever.” She huffed, flouncing off the bed and stomping her way to the bathroom. She started a shower and tried to guess how long Rachel’s hissy fit would last this time (and how long she’d be celibate as a result) while she dragged out the act of showering until the water started to run cold.

Surveying the facts, she found herself just irritated at the conclusion. Rachel was _seriously_ stubborn, especially when she felt justified in her anger (so, always). This could take a while. That meant that if Santana wanted to get anywhere close to touching Rachel’s sweet spots tonight, she was gonna have to suck it up and apologize, or at least express _some_ kind of regret. A promise not to do it again was a bad bet, Rachel never forgot that shit and it somehow always ended up broken when Santana set unrealistic goals like that.

She sighed, toweling her hair out before dropping the towel to the floor with a childish sense of victory. Rachel _hated_ wet towels on the floor. So Santana was maybe a little petulant herself, what of it.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked back into the bedroom fully naked, skin glistening with leftover rivulets of water. She caught Rachel trying to be sly about briefly peeking up from her book, and was pleased with herself for suppressing the grin that tried to spring up. She stood with her hands on her hips for a few moments, confident in her nudity and basking in the fact that Rachel couldn't ignore it. Santana hadn't gotten much further in her planning than 'show up naked,' though, and ended up just standing there with a blank expression while a war between her pride and sex drive waged on in her head.

Rachel cleared her throat discreetly, flipping the page of her book with what could only be described as violence.

"Rachel."

“Mm.” Rachel grunted an acknowledgement without looking up. Santana took the remaining few steps to place her next to the bed, droplets of water dropping to the floor around her.

“ _Rachel_.”

“ _What_.” Rachel looked up that time, her eyes dark and intense and full of challenge, her jaw set in ‘super Rachel Berry determination’ mode. With that look, the war in Santana’s head had a winner.

“Look, I’m just gonna go ahead and be the bigger person here, and say that I want you inside me.”

A blink, followed by another, and then Rachel was throwing her book to the side and pulling Santana down on top of her. “You’re such an idiot,” she murmured against her girlfriend’s lips. “And you’re picking up that towel before we go to sleep.”

 


End file.
